mily; another declared him to be "tall, rather handsome,
black-bearded, and with the quiet sense of humor that belongs to the
temperament of a modest man." One reporter had noticed that his
Southern-cut clothes did not fit him.

"He might have said something nicer than that," Ellen remarked, with
a natural protest against this undue familiarity.

"I don't know why we should be spoken of as a pragmatic family," said
Mrs. Witherspoon. "Of course your father has always been in business,
but I don't see"--

Witherspoon began to grunt. "It's all right," said he. "It's all
right." He had to say something. "Come, I must get down town."

"Shall I go with you?" Henry asked.

For a moment Witherspoon was silent. "Not unless you want to," he
answered.

They sat down to breakfast. Henry nervously expected another outbreak.
The merchant began to say something, but stopped on a half utterance
and cleared his throat. "It is coming," Henry thought.

"I have studied over our talk of last night," said Witherspoon, "and
while I won't say that you may be right, or have any excuse for
presuming that you are right, I am inclined to indulge that wild
scheme of yours for a while. My impression is that you'll soon get
sick of it."

Mrs. Witherspoon looked at him thankfully. "And you will give him a
chance, father," she said.

"Didn't I say I would? Isn't that exactly what I said? Gracious alive,
don't make me out a grinding and unyielding monster. We'll look round,
Henry, and see what can be done. Brooks may know of some opening.
You'd better rest here to-day."

"I am deeply grateful, sir, for the concession you have made," Henry
replied. "I know how you feel on the subject, and I regret"--

"All right."

"Regret that I was forced"--

"I said it was all right."

"Forced to oppose you, but I don't think that you'll have cause to
feel ashamed of me."

"You have already made me feel proud of your manliness," said
Witherspoon.

Henry bowed, and Mrs. Witherspoon gave her husband an impulsive look
of gratitude. The merchant continued:

"You have refused my offer, but you have not presumed upon your own
position. Sincerity expects a reward, as a rule, and when a man is
sincere at his own expense, there is something about him to admire.
You don't prefer to live idly--to draw on me--and I should want no
stronger proof that you are, indeed, my son. It is stronger than the
gold chain you brought home with you, for that might have b